


Where We Must Rebuild From The Beginning

by Tatsumaki_sama



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exile, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 12:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7439950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tatsumaki_sama/pseuds/Tatsumaki_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Catelyn reflects on both the good and harsh times she and Ned and their children endured during their exile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where We Must Rebuild From The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I've read some amazing fics (“Those Who Stand Long” by i_cloudy and “the dove from above is a dragon and your feet are on fire” series by SomeEnchantedEve) about Rhaegar and/or Lyanna surviving and Ned and Catelyn going into exile. And I couldn't resist but write one of my own. Please keep in mind I have no intentions of bashing Rhaegar and Lyanna but from the perspectives of certain characters, they may be slightly biased. I also had to use Ygritte's quote from A Storm of Storms because it was just so fitting for this.

This is mercy, Ned's sister, Lyanna Stark now Targaryen, told them with tears in her pretty grey eyes, as if pleading for them to understand.

 

Yes, it was a mercy, Catelyn bitterly understood, but a cruel mercy at that.

 

They had called her – no, forced her – to King's Landing and with great fear, she went, already heavy with child, wondering what her and her child's fate would be. Bryndon was able to steal a precious few moments when she arrived to warn her of the precarious situation they were in.

 

Her father Lord Tully had been publicly executed, he told her with a heavy heart. Along with Lord Arryn. Robert Baratheon was dead and his body left to be plucked apart by vultures. It was the fate of those who rebelled against the Targaryens.

 

When came for Eddard Stark to receive his sentence, the grief that nearly overwhelmed her of her father's death was quickly smoldered by fear for her new husband and for the child still growing and slumbering in her belly.

 

He would not willingly bend at the knee so they chained his hands to the marble floor to kneel. Fire coursed underneath her skin as she was brought forward by a Kingsguard to stand beside her husband, glaring at the court as if they would take her unborn babe from her this instant. Was it not enough that they won the war, made them watch as their loved ones died without a proper burial, but needed to humiliate them further?

 

She caught her uncle's eye as she passed by. His own expression was troubled, enraged and most of all, terrified for his beloved niece.

 

Then came the final blow. Prince Rhaegar was as handsome as the tales told of him but his purple eyes were cold and harsh as he stripped Ned of his titles and land and banished him and his heirs from this day forward from Westeros under pain of death. A ship laid anchored in Blackwater Bay, already prepared for departure. It was the only kindness he would offer to his goodbrother. Should they not find themselves on it within the hour, the Kingsguard have been ordered to bring their heads.

 

Ned's grim expression did not change as Rhaegar made his declaration and Lyanna wept for him. Catelyn bitterly wondered if she wept for her father Rickard and Brandon when they burned to death for her sake or for her father and Lord Arryn and the men who pledged to bring her safely home but now were food for carrions.

 

Ned remained silent, offering no words to his sister as Ser Gerold Hightower finally freed him from his chains and ushered him and Catelyn out of the court.

 

Jaw clenched and head held high, Ned walked with a purpose, not as a man on death row. If this was to be the last image they see of Lord Eddard Stark, let them not say he was craven or a broken man. Few men could retain the last shreds of their pride and dignity in light of such a dishonourable end as well as Eddard Stark.

 

The sight of her husband's bravery, as if it was written straight from the tales of old, impressed Catelyn who was much less of a romantic than her sister was. She did not see his short stature or his plain unremarkable face, but as Ned made his way to the harbour with a steel glint in his eyes and mouth set in a determined line, he appeared more kingly and noble than Prince Rhaegar.

 

And so, she followed Ned's lead, refusing to dip her head in sorrow or shed tears for the court to see.

 

For she was now a Stark and their small pack of two (soon to be three) would endure.

 

~.~.~

 

Robb Stark could have been born in Winterfell or at Riverrun, warm and comfortable and safe. But instead, he was born in an old Braavosi inn in a worn cot made of straw with a local midwife to assist.

 

Highborn ladies would have expected several maids to press cooled cloths to their forehead and dip water to their cracked lips while their husbands stood outside. As Ned held Catelyn's hand, only grimacing at her cries, and brushed her sweat-soaked hair from her hair, they both watched with terrified anticipation as the midwife presented to them the crying babe, still slick with blood, and announced it was a healthy boy with a toothy grin.

 

As much as Robb brought an unspeakable joy to them in the midst of such turbulent times, he did not take well to the blistery heat (much like his father) and wailed and fussed often, much to the dismay of his parents.

 

Ned would be gone from dawn till evening, toiling away at scattered jobs to scrape together enough coins to last them another day, leaving Catelyn alone with their son. She tried to recall all the lessons her septa had taught her and wondered why she did not pay more attention to the ways of cleaning and cooking, having blissfully assumed that the maids and servants would manage those skills while she ruled the house.

 

She did her best, even when all manners of food become too burnt or still uncooked and her hands were rubbed raw and ached at the washing and unused to the burning sun that left blisters and cracks on her skin. Ned never complained about her work and she avoided looking at his eyes as he finished all of his meals and told her he counted himself blessed.

 

By six moons, Catelyn had quietly endured and suffered, refusing to let Ned see any unshed tears or a voice of complaint. He had enough of his own troubles and guilt that burdened him deeply. He did not not to bear her worries and frustrations too. But as she desperately tried to soothe the bawling Robb who was able to draw breath after breath to cry all afternoon and late until evening, there was a prickle of burning at her eyes and her entire body was sluggish and heavy. By the time Ned arrived home, he saw their small cottage turned upside down and Catelyn, hair wild and unkempt, walking around and around the kitchen while Robb yowled and banged his tiny fists against her shoulder in misery.

 

When their eyes met, for a moment, fear and shame rose in her. She had failed as a mother to calm their son. She had failed as a wife to keep the house well. Family Duty Honour, the words of the Tully house rang loudly in her ears as if scolding her. She wanted to speak, apologize or make excuses for her behaviour. But she was so tired and weary that she could only stare helplessly at her husband.

 

If Ned had been any other highborn noble or any other displeased husband, he would have yelled at her, perhaps even hit her for her lack of an answer. He might have left the crying Robb with her and stumbled towards the nearest tavern and drank himself to a stupor where he would soon find comfort in another woman's arms.

 

But instead, Ned simply came up to her and gently eased out Robb from her aching arms. “ Why don't you rest? I'll take Robb,” he said, his eyes having no condemnation or spite but kindness and understanding and Catelyn could have melted with relief.

 

She sagged onto the chair, blinking back gritty eyes, watching as Ned, despite his own tiredness that must be striking his bones, held and rocked their wailing son with all the patience of a septon. He hummed a low song, a tune she did not recognize but surely must have arisen from the North, murmuring words that offered reassurances and protection for his child, even if Robb was too busy sobbing and flailing his fists to listen.

 

At that moment, Catelyn could not have loved Ned any more than before. A man who loved his children with as much tenderness and composure as Ned Stark did, was a good man.

 

~.~.~

 

It was a rare day that Ned did not have to go to the shipyards. Having caught the ship master's eye for being trustworthy and hardworking, he was appointed second to the ship master, able to handle sums and manage duties of the other fishermen. This gave him a little extra coin to bring home and more time to spend with his wife and children.

 

He had said he would watch Robb and Sansa as she went to see the healer to check if the four moons old babe in her belly was well. The two children who were pleased to spend more time with their father were quick to usher her out, much to her amusement.

 

Her amusement only grew when she returned home and found the three of them in the back of the house, reenacting one of Sansa's stories. Ned and Robb each held a wooden branch that Ned had so carefully carved and fashioned in a likeness to swords. Sansa was nestled comfortably on top of the tree, observing everything with excitement.

 

“ You shall not pass me, knight of the river lands. Do you think I will hand you this fair nymph of the woodland realms so easily?” Ned said in a grave voice – Catelyn would have thought him serious if not for the amused tinkle in his eyes – only to be promptly interrupted by his indignant daughter.

 

“ Father,” she whined. “ I'm not a tree nymph.” Sansa pointed her to her makeshift crown of flowers as if it were explanation enough. “ I'm a princess today.”

 

Ned raised an eyebrow and Catelyn could not help but smile at his bemused expression. “ Very well, fair princess. Regardless, your knight will not rescue you, not while I am here. What say you?”

 

“ You will not stop me!” Robb cried out, brandishing his sword with all the flourish as a young boy. He tried to mold his features into a serious expression like his father but he kept grinning. “ I have traveled far and wide. I will not stand for you taking my beloved!”

 

“ Your words are wind. Defeat me to claim her.” While Catelyn recognized her husband's stern voice, the kind he used to use when issuing commands to his men, Robb and Sansa gleefully dubbed it his “dastardly evil overlord” voice. And despite the solemn expression on Ned's face, Catelyn could see the corners of his mouth twitch.

 

With a bold cry, Robb leaped at his father, already swinging his weapon with Sansa cheering for her brother's victory. Ned dodged each swing with such amazing grace and parried Robb's wild and impulsive strikes with a light tap of his own, mindful not to make the boy tumble. It was times like this that Catelyn remembered that Ned remained a soldier and a warrior through and through despite age and disuse of his own swordsmanship.

 

After a few moments of more thrusts, parries and circling each other, both Catelyn and Ned noticed Robb was starting to tire. Ned purposely paused, raising his sword as if delivering another strike to allow Robb to spy an opening and land the “killing” blow. With a grunt, Ned fell to the ground and dropped his sword, clutching at his side. “ You have defeated me,” he sighed as if disappointed.

 

The mischievous smile on Robb's face was as bright as the sun. “ I am not done with you yet, villain!” he shouted and Ned barely had time to brace himself before his son flung himself into Ned's arms.

 

Their laughter rang about the yard and Sansa cried out to be let down from the tree so she too could join them. Few highborn fathers would take delight in playing with their children such as now, preferring their wives or septas to do that duty for them. Even less men would do so in the comforts of their homes where others could see and judge how improper it was for a lord to interact with his children so informally and carelessly.

 

With the pressing need of politics and duty faraway from their minds, Catelyn wished they could stay like this forever.

 

~.~.~

 

Catelyn was preparing stew and Ned was looking after the newborn Arya, bouncing her on his knee when the knock at the door surprised them. Robb and Sansa who were previously engaged in their drawings and animated chatter immediately jumped to their feet in excitement at the sound. It was rare that they would have guests so late at night.

 

Grimly, Ned handed the squirming Arya to Catelyn and told Robb and Sansa to go by their mother. Catelyn noticed how Ned's hand casually drifted towards the knife at his belt. It had been six years but the threat of assassins coming to end the Stark line remained long in the back of their minds.

 

Ned opened the door cautiously, only in his surprise to come face to face with one of his trusted soldiers, Jory Cassel.

 

He was no longer the boy that Ned remembered, who had sincerely avowed his desire to join him to fight against those who wronged the House Stark, but now a young man. At the sight of his lord, the man was overcame with suspiciously bright eyes and quickly knelt, fervently proclaiming his joy that Ned and Catelyn were alive and well and reaffirming his loyalty to the house of Stark.

 

Once the children were sent to the bed – with a promise to explain things tomorrow despite their questions and protests – the three of them sat around the table. There were questions both Catelyn and Ned wished to ask, mostly how their families fared, but they politely held their tongue and waited for Jory to speak, who was kind enough to sense their anxieties.

 

Benjen was ruling Winterfell, unwillingly but firmly and Catelyn's siblings were doing well in King's Landing while her uncle was quiet though hale at Riverrun. There was some measure of peace in the Southern lands but the North remained restless and they did not forget their beloved lord.

 

They had taken advantage of the Greyjoy uprising to send Jory to seek out if Ned was still alive. If his scouting coincidentally led him to Braavos, they would say the ship he was travelling on to visit Dorne had blown off course due to storms and stranded him there.

 

Jory was not inclined to make any mention of Lyanna until Ned prompted him, to which he, with some amount of harshness, reported she was last heard delivering another stillborn babe to Rhaegar some years ago. “ The North are not so quick to forgive, Lord Stark,” Jory murmured, trying to explain. “ Their sons fought and died to bring her home and it was for naught since she freely chose to marry the man whose father cruelly executed your father and brother and who exiled you and your lady wife.”

 

Ned had no answer to that. Catelyn thought of it unfair, slightly jealous that Lyanna was still able to hold a part of her husband's heart so closely. She could see how, despite everything, a part of Ned still loved his sister. Loved and hated so dearly and so bitterly. 

 

~.~.~

 

Jory was an instant delight to the children, much to his embarrassment. Robb was fascinated by the sword by his belt and threw question after question about his swordsmanship and all the battles he had been to. Sansa frequently blushed when in his presence, for Jory had grown to be a handsome man, but soon, she was bold to ask him what his home – her home was like. Arya on the other hand simply enjoyed gnawing on a new set of fingers.

 

He did his best to help around the household while Ned was away to the shipyard. If Jory noticed the callouses scarring across Catelyn's once delicate hands or that Ned had gone out to retrieve more water from the river, a chore meant for servants, he did not say a word. He did raise his eyebrows when he heard them refer to each other as Ned and Cat so informally and how openly affectionate they were with their children, who freely gave hugs and kisses to each parent.

 

How strange their family must appear to him.

 

“ Do you like it here, Lady Stark?” he suddenly asked her one day, after Robb and Sansa had settled for an afternoon nap.

 

She blinked for she heard that title few and far between, even when she first married Ned. “ Braavos remains far too hot for my taste and I still am unfamiliar with its culture,” she admitted. Her pale creamy skin that made other girls envious of her became tanned, course and toughened. She spoke High Valyrian haltingly and even if the locals laughed at her fumbling words, she learned and was able to form coherent sentences. Life here was hard but also was strangely comfortable.

 

He nodded, understanding what she truly meant. “ I had known Lord Stark for a brief time, not too long after his father and brother's deaths. He was a solemn man even at his age for he dealt with much hardship. And yet, he had smiled more during these past two days than in the one year of the rebellion I'd had known him.” His smile was kind. “ You and the children have done my lord good.”

 

She smiled too, thinking back to how she first despised this exile but have now come to embrace it. “ Ned and the children have done me good as well.”

 

~.~.~

 

The night after Jory had left (there were assurances he would only tell a precious few what he had found in Braavos), Catelyn asked her husband a question long on her mind. “ What would you do if we received a pardon?” she said, her voice hushed as if she was worried her question would wake the children in the other room.

 

Ned cupped his drink in his hands, silent for a moment. “ Depends on the nature of the pardon,” he answered, carefully and slowly like he was still pondering. “ I doubt Rhaegar would be so lenient to grant me back my titles and lands. Should we return, I fear we shall be nothing but smallfolk, having to start all over again.”

 

It took a good six years before things finally settled and became more stable with them. It took long for Ned to gain the trust of the other fishermen and the ship master for the work to be a little less taxing. It took long for the other women in the streets to stop eyeing Catelyn warily and began to teach her the ways of caring for her children and managing her home. And Robb, Sansa and Arya had only knew of Braavos and their small but cozy home during their short lives. Returning to Winterfell and Westeros might not be the best choice for their children.

 

“ But I would not deny a chance to see Benjen again,” Ned softly said. “ And perhaps ... Lyanna too.” There was a wistfulness in his voice that Catelyn had not heard in a long time. “ As much as I made my peace here, a part of me still longs for Winterfell and the North.”

 

The call of home still beckoned them deeply and it both soothed and frightened her. “ I too miss Riverrun,” Catelyn admitted, recalling the times she spent walking by the rivers and collecting flowers with Lysa and Edmure before presenting them to her amused father and uncle. There had been fond times but now, after spending a world and a lifetime away, it was a distant memory.

 

“ Still, it is only a passing fantasy,” Ned sighed. He suddenly looked older, lines appearing across his face and crinkling the corners of his mouth. “ We haven't been pardoned yet. Perhaps the day for that pardon would never come.”

 

In some ways, Catelyn resented seeing Jory, for he and his coming brought back such thoughts that they believed were buried.

 

“ We will live,” she firmly said. She looked into Ned's eyes with determination and reached over to hold his hand. “ All men must die Ned, but we must live first.”

 

As Ned smiled a warm smile (how could she had believed when they were first wed, that Eddard Stark appeared to be a cold-hearted and solemn man?) and he leaned across the table to kiss her, Catelyn was content and at that moment, the world was all right in her eyes.

 


End file.
